


incentive

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Genji rarely comes to the office.To those that ask, he’s a part-time employee--says with a grin as he straightens his tie,“I work better from home.”When he does show up at the building it’s always with his suitjacket unbuttoned, his tie rather loose around his throat, the knot sloppy; he’s unprofessional, but he’s also the brother of the CEO, the son of the company’s founder. Anyone who has anything to say about the smeared makeup around his eyes or the wildness of his green hair keeps it to themselves, or comes back from lunch to find a pink slip sitting on their desk, signed by oneH. Shimada.The employees have learned not to talk.But they do stare.





	incentive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trippingonmentats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trippingonmentats/gifts).



> my part of the Shimadacest Exchange, for Questionablementats on tumblr~!

Genji rarely comes to the office.

To those that ask, he’s a part-time employee--says with a grin as he straightens his tie, _“I work better from home.”_ When he does show up at the building it’s always with his suitjacket unbuttoned, his tie rather loose around his throat, the knot sloppy; he’s unprofessional, but he’s also the brother of the CEO, the son of the company’s founder. Anyone who has anything to say about the smeared makeup around his eyes or the wildness of his green hair keeps it to themselves, or comes back from lunch to find a pink slip sitting on their desk, signed by one _H. Shimada_.

The employees have learned not to talk.

But they do stare.

Genji can feel them, as he walks through the neat rows of desks--past the carbon-fiber copies of good, dutiful workers bent over their computers, all busy keeping the empire he’s come to call home running smoothly. Their gazes linger on him as he passes, prickle like needles; it’s taken years of practice to be able to ignore their looks and trailing eyes with a feigned, easy grace, and he calls upon it now, chin held high as he walks toward the main office set up in the back of the room.

Hanzo’s office.

The door is closed, and Genji doesn’t bother to knock; just swings it open wide, with all the bravado of someone who knows he’s untouchable. There’s a man seated in front of Hanzo’s desk--a potential business partner, Hanzo had told him, a very important man they needed to impress--and the grin on Genji’s face dies as he looks between the man’s beady, predatory gaze and Hanzo’s own neutral, mildly-displeased expression.

He suddenly knows why he’s here.

“You’re late,” Hanzo says, not looking up from the manilla folder he has opened on his desk, the papers fanned out in front of him. Only after he’s finished signing the document he’s looking at does he remove the thin glasses from his face, neatly fold them up, set them aside; his eyes, when he finally glances up at Genji, are cold. “Have I not stressed to you the importance of punctuality? Close the door.”

“I was busy,” Genji says, kicking the door shut with his heel; and any satisfaction he would feel at seeing the businessman flinch in his seat, startled by the noise, is lost under the sudden intensity of Hanzo’s expression, the severity in his thin-pressed lips and narrow-eyed glare. 

Genji knows the look well. It’s a mirror of their father’s.

“This is Mr. Tanaka,” Hanzo says, gesturing with one hand toward the man seated across from him. Genji glances over, gives Tanaka a stiff little nod of greeting. “He is all set to partner up with our company, and is just waiting on his promised… _incentive_.”

“Incentive.” Genji repeats the word flatly, hating the bitter taste of it on his tongue; he doesn’t remember promising anything to anybody. “And what exactly would that be, Hanzo?”

“You.” 

Genji feels his gut clench with dread. Waits a beat. “Me.”

“Yes.” Hanzo leans back in his chair and folds his hands neatly in his lap, fixes Genji with a cool stare. “You are a partner of this business, as much as you would like to run our reputation into the dirt. And as such, you are expected to pull your weight, and offer your assistance when you can.” He pauses to curl his lip a little, then adds, “Seeing as you have no _business_ value to add to this deal, you will help Mr. Tanaka make up his mind physically, instead.”

For a moment Genji stands rooted to the spot, clenching and unclenching his fists as he wars with himself, tries to handle the flurry of emotions Hanzo’s words stir in him. As angry as he is at Hanzo’s casual insults, there’s a bitter truth to them, too--and this is far from the first time Hanzo has recruited Genji for such a base deal. He debates just telling Hanzo no, turning on his heel and storming out of the office, just like he has debated every other time; and just like every other time, he still grits his teeth and--painfully, slowly, agonized--dips his head.

Because even as deterring as the thought of fucking some stranger in Hanzo’s office is, the threat of homelessness and disownment is even worse.

When he finally moves it’s stiff, his motions lacking his usual fluid grace as he walks around Tanaka’s chair. As he moves to straddle the man’s lap, he hears a soft cough from behind him; when he looks over his shoulder, one leg cocked over the spread of Tanaka’s thigh, Hanzo is leaning forward with a faint smile and a gleam in his eyes.

“You will need this, brother.”

In his outstretched hand is a slender tube of lubricant.

Genji snatches it from him with a snarl that bubbles low in his throat. He turns his head away before Hanzo can see the indignant anger in his eyes, unwilling to look at his brother’s smug face while he unbuttons his slacks and shucks them down his thighs--it’s bad enough that he can feel Hanzo’s gaze on him, burning like a brand. He’s halted when one of Tanaka’s calloused hands comes to cup his chin, gently turning his face up so their eyes meet.

“You don’t have to rush, sweet thing,” Tanaka tells him, voice low and soft and enough to make Genji’s stomach turn. His thumb slowly strokes over the slight part of Genji’s lips, smearing the shine of his faint pink gloss. “This only has to be as miserable as you make it.”

But that’s just it--Genji doesn’t _want_ to enjoy it. Not when it’s forced upon him, not with Hanzo watching; especially not with Tanaka’s dark, predatory eyes sweeping over his body greedily, his hands big and rough and arrogant as they run down the smooth curves of Genji’s body, settle and squeeze at his bared ass. His fingers trace feather-light over the soft cleft, one slipping between Genji’s plush cheeks to circle the tight clench of his hole, and Genji shudders at the feeling, his jaw tensing.

“I know what I’m doing.” The pop of the cap to the lube is startlingly loud in the quiet office; a noise Genji’s heard a hundred times, and yet it still makes him flinch. He spreads his thighs a little wider on Tanaka’s lap and drizzles a generous amount of lube across his fingers, then arches his back to reach behind himself and smear the cool slick against his hole with a gruff, “I don’t need your help.”

Tanaka hums, like the display is amusing. Genji hates him even more.

They talk business, while Genji prepares himself--and it’s humiliating, to stare down at the rising bulge in Tanaka’s black slacks and listen to him and Hanzo talk around him, like he’s not even there, like he’s not worth addressing. It’s only when he’s worked-slack and open, his slick hole glistening as it twitches, that he reaches for Tanaka again.

The man purrs as Genji pulls his slacks open, when he grabs the stiff length inside to work it free; and the curve of Tanaka’s smile is sickening, his voice as fluid as his hips when they roll up into Genji’s slick grip.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs. He gently traces the back of his knuckles along the curve of Genji’s cheek, only stopping when he reaches the sharp dip of his pink-glossed frown. “Just enjoy it. Biggest cock you’ve ever had, I’m sure. Take your time.”

It takes everything Genji has in him to not snap at the man’s roaming fingers. As it is, he manages to keep most of the leer off his face as he adjusts his grip on Tanaka’s shaft--and the glide of the fat, spongy head along the slick cleft of his ass is routine, more for functionality than anything, but still draws a shaky-sounding groan from Tanaka’s parted lips.

“Oh, that’s good,” he whispers, his head tipping back as the tip of his cock works back and forth between the plush cheeks, his grip tightening on Genji’s hips. “You _do_ want this, don’t you, you little whore? So eager for me.”

Genji stares down at him, his mind racing through a million different responses--each ending in a different piece of Tanaka’s anatomy removed from him, a new bloodstain for the custodians to remove from the carpet. His grip tightens around the firm warmth of Tanaka’s cock, and it’s just when he’s debating ripping it from the man’s body entirely that he hears the soft noise of Hanzo clearing his throat behind him.

“The man asked you a question, Genji. I think he’s owed an answer.”

Genji grits his teeth; but he can feel Hanzo’s gaze, boring into his back like twin brands. He swallows down his disgusted indignity and thinks of homelessness, of his father’s heavy hand and the pain he can bring, and manages to murmur, “Yes, Mr. Tanaka. I can’t wait to feel you inside me…”

He can’t help but trail off, the words grinding to a halt in his throat, but it’s enough--Tanaka’s hips surge up, and the blunt head of his cock spears up into the slick, yielding grasp of Genji’s hole, spreading him open in one fluid movement. The sudden penetration steals Genji’s breath away, has him digging his fingers into the pressed fabric of Tanaka’s suitjacket; and only when he feels the warm, plush stop of Tanaka’s balls tucked up under his ass does he dare to breathe again. He looks over his shoulder at Hanzo--sees the hungry pleasure in his dark liquid eyes, the razor-thin curve of his smile--and feels his stomach turn. 

Just like every other time.

It’s almost hard to focus on Tanaka, with the intensity of Hanzo’s stare burning along Genji’s shoulders, over the ripple of the muscles in his back as he moves his hips; but he does, because he’s expected to, because it’s what he is required to do to keep his home and his name. He stretches up along the expanse of Tanaka’s chest and plants his hands on the man’s shoulders, and rolls his hips up, down, over the admittedly generous length of the man’s cock--again, then again, faster each time until Tanaka’s panting and Genji’s own breath is strained with exertion. The chair he’s bouncing on groans dangerously, and Genji pays it no mind; why should he? 

Let it break. Hanzo will have to pay for another, and hopefully the bill--as small a dent as it will put in his wallet--will have him regretting coercing Genji into doing this.

But probably not.

Because nothing has stopped Hanzo yet, nothing has made him show the slightest hint of remorse for what he makes Genji do; as it is, he sits back in his chair with his own fly unzipped, lazily stroking his cock to the sight of Genji riding some stranger’s dick in his office. 

Genji can hear the sound of Hanzo’s heavy breaths, just barely, behind him. He glances over his shoulder to watch his brother, stare at the slow, luxurious motions of his hand over the ruddy length of his cock--and it’s the way Hanzo bites his lip, the almost-pained furrow of his brow and twist to his features that has something in Genji’s belly stirring, his cock trying to valiantly spring to life against Tanaka’s button-down shirt.

But--just like every other time--it is wasted.

Tanaka grabs for his hips suddenly, arches up to press a wet, messy kiss against the corner of Genji’s mouth; and before Genji can protest it, he’s gasping at the feel of Tanaka’s sudden release into him. Tanaka’s tongue pushes past his slack lips to find its way into his mouth, thick and rude and tasting of stale cigarettes as he coats Genji’s insides with liquid heat--and all Genji can do is hang on, dig his fingers into the man’s pressed shirt and squeeze his eyes shut against the feeling of being marked, claimed, so intimately by someone he met ten minutes ago.

The closing is blessedly quick. Tanaka signs the contracts with Genji’s hole still wrapped snug around his softening dick, and he leaves with a slightly bashful grin and a peck to Genji’s cheek. It’s only when he’s gone that Hanzo snaps his fingers and calls for him, his voice soft.

“Very good, Genji. Come finish your duties, and then you may go.”

After the humiliation that came with fucking Tanaka, the familiarity of crawling over to settle between Hanzo’s thighs is almost a blessing. It’s easy for Genji to kneel there, to take the leaking tip of his brother’s cock between his lips; and Hanzo’s praise, quiet as it is when it’s whispered against his hair, still warms him in a way he can’t describe, soothing some of the hurt from earlier.

Like this, he can almost believe that they’re okay--can almost forget how fucked up and horrible this whole situation, their entire lives, are.

But then Hanzo’s fist grabs at his hair, jerks him down until he’s feeling the tip of his brother’s cock jammed up against the back of his throat; and Hanzo cums, and Genji is spared from thinking at all, his mind wiped clean in a searing rush of white.


End file.
